iiiiitmiMim 


HOARE 
The  Spoiled  Child 


::^' 


THE     MINOR    DRAMA. 
No.  CXXXIIL 


THE 


SPOILED  CHILD: 

A    FARCE, 
IN   TWO  ACTS, 


BY 

PRINCE  HOARE. 

AB   PERFORMED  IN  THE  LONDON  AND  AMERICAN  THEATRES' 

TO   WHICH   ARE   ADDED 

A  DeBCription  of  the  Costume    Cast  of  the  Characters,  Eatranoeg  and  Exits,  R«la* 
tivc  Positions,  and  the  whole  of  the  Stage  Business. 


NEW  YORK: 
SAMUEL    FRENCH, 

122  Nassau-Strekt,  (up  stairs.) 


Cf.ST  OF  CHARAC7£RS.-(THE  SPOILED  CHILD.) 


OLD  PICKLE. 

LITTLE  PICKLE, 

TAGG, 

JOHN, 

THOMAS, 

RICHARD, 

WILLIAM, 

MISS  PICKLE, 

MARIA, 

SUSAN, 

MARGERY, 


PARK,  1830.    . 

Jones 

Miss  Clara  Fislier 

Placide 

Povey 

Haydea 

King 

Collet 

Mrs.  Wheatley 

Mrs.  Godey 

Miss  Brundage 

Mrs.  Durie 


BOWERY,  1850. 

Glenn 

Miss  S.  Denin 

Winans 

Jordan 

Rose 

Rogers 

Armand 

Mrs.  Broadley 

Miss  K.  Dennin 

Mrs.  Yeomana 

Mrs.  Stone 


COSTUMES. 

Little  Pickk,  Jacket  and  trowscrs.  ruff.  2nd,  Ragged.  Old  Pickle,  Old 
man's  pepper  and  salt  coat  vest  and  breeches.  Tagg,  Black  light  pants. 
black  coat   much  delapidated.      John,   Farmer's   frock   and  breeche» 

Miss  Pickle,  Figured  satin  overdress,  quilted  petticoat,  cap,  Ac.  Maria^ 
White  muslin  skirt  with  pantelettes  ribbons,  &c.  Margery,  Dark  common 
old  woman's  dress.' 

STAGE  DIRECTIONS. 

L.  means  Fir^  Entrance,  Left.  R.  First  Entrance,  Eight.  S.  E.  L.  Secm6 
Entrance,  Left.  S.  E.  R.  Second  Entrance,  Right.  U.  E.  L.  Upper  Entrance. 
Left.  TJ.  E.  R.  Upper  Entrance.  Rifjht.  C.  Centre.  L.  C.  Left  of  Cerdre 
R.  C.  Right  of  Centre.  T.  E.  L.  Third  Entrance,  Left.  T.  E.  R.  Third 
Entrance,  Right.  C.  D.  Centre  Door.  D.  R.  Door  Riff  hi.  D.  L.  Door 
Left.    U.  D.  L.  Upper  Door,  Left.     U.  D.  R.  Upper  Dm,  RigU. 


'^,*The  reader  is  supposed  to  be  on  the  Stage,  facing  the  Audience. 


uSq/)  LiNlVKKSi  1  >  OF  <    ..IJFORN 

7,  />/^v  SA:\'1A  IJAKliAHA 

^91  S7 


THE  SPOILED  CHILD. 


Scene  I. — A  dining  parlor — Pickle  and  sister  sitting  hy  a  tables 
on  ichich  plates  are  laid  for  dinner,  the  sister  working. 

Old  P.  Well,  well,  sister,  a  little  patience,  and  these  holi- 
days will  be  over ;  the  boy  then  goes  to  school,  and  all  will  bo 
quiet. 

Miss  P.  Ay,  till  the  next  breaking  up.  No,  no,  brother,  unless 
he  is   severely  punished  for  what  he  has  already  done,  depend', 
upon  it,  this  vicious  humor  will  be  confirmed  into  habit,  and  his 
follies  increase  in  proportion  with  his  years. 

Old  P.  Now,  would  not  any  one  think,  to  hear  you  talk,  that 
my  son  was  a  thief,  or  had  actually  some  vice  in  him.  For  my 
part,  I  don't  pretend  to  justify  or  excuse  his  excesses  ;  yet  I  own 
there  is  something  so  whimsical  in  all  his  tricks,  that  I  can't  in 
my  heart  but  forgive  him  ;  ay.  and  for  aught  I  know,  love  him 
too,  the  better  into  the  bargain. 

3Iiss  P.  Yes,  truly,  because  you  never  have  been  a  sufferer  by 
them.  Had  you  been  rendered  ridiculous,  as  I  have  been  by  his 
tricks,  as  you  call  them,  you  would  have  been  the  first  to  com- 
plain and  punish. 

Old  P.  Nay,  as  to  that,  he  has  not  spared  even  me,  his  father ; 
I  too  have  been  the  butt  of  his  mirlh  !  is  there  a  day  passes 
that  I  don't  break  my  shins  over  stumbling  blocks,  that  he  lays 
in  my  way  ?  so  that  I  live  as  if  I  were  in  an  enemy's  country — 
mines  all  over  the  rouUl^^,  and  auibu.^c-ide.-;  iu  every  passage. 


4  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

Miss  P.  Your  bouse  too,  turned  inside  out  ;  the  table  broke, 
the  furniture  spoiled. 

Old  P.  Furniture  spoiled!  why  there  is  not  a  door  but  is  arm- 
ed with  a  bason  of  water  on  top,  and  left  just  a-jar,  so  that  egad 
I  can't  walk  over  my  own  house,  without  running  the  risk  of  be- 
ing wet  through. 

Mi^s  P.  Yet,  you  still  pardon  and  forgive  him,  and  forgive  and 
pardon ;  till  your  authority  will  become  as  ridiculous  in  his  eyes, 
as  your  childish  partiality  is  already  in  those  of  all  your  acquain- 
tance. But  no  wonder,  the  child's  spoiled,  since  you  superintend 
his  education  yourself — j'ou  indeed  ! 

Old  P.  Sister,  sister,  don't  provoke  me  ;  at  any  rate  I  have 
wit  enough  to  conceal  my  ignorance.  I  don't  pretend  to  write 
verses  and  nonsence  as  some  folks  do. 

3/m  P.  Now  would  you  rail  at  me  for  the  disposition  I 
was  bom  with  1  can  I  help  it,  if  the  gods  have  made  me  poetical, 
as  the  divine  bard  says? 

Old  P.  Made  you  poetical  indeed  !  you  have  made  yourself  the 
dupe  of  every  rhyming  puppy.  Blood,  if  from  your  birth,  you 
had  any  claim  to  this  ;  if  3'ou  had  been  born  in  a  street  near  a 
college  ;  ay,  or  even  next  door  to  a  day  school,  I  might  not  have 
been  so  surprised.  But,  damn  it,  madam,  in  the  middle  of  the 
minories,  what  had  you  to  do  with  poetry  and  stuflF? 

Miss  P.  Provoking  ignorance  ! 

Old  P.  Have  not  you  rendered  yourself  the  sneer  of  all  your 
acquaintance  ?  are  your  best  and  dearest  friends  ever  so  happy 
as  when  they  are  amusing  and  laughing  at  you,  with  your  re- 
fined intercourse  with  Mr.  Tagg,  the  author,  a  fellow  that  strolls 
about  the  country,  spouting  and  acting  in  every  barn  he  comes 
to  ?  was  not  he  once  found  concealed  in  your  closet,  to  the  utter 
scandal  of  my  house,  and  the  ruin  of  your  reputation  ? 

Miss  P.  If  3'ouhad  the  smallest  spark  of  taste,  you  would  admire 
the  effusions  of  Mr.  Tagg's  pen  ;  and  be  enchanted  at  his  admira- 
ble acting  as  much  as  T  am. 

Old  P.  D'ye  tell  me  I  can't  educate  my  own  child  ?  why  I  can 
make  a  lord  chancelor,  or  an  archbishop  of  Canterbury  of  him, 
which  ever  I  like,  just  as  I  please. 
{In  repeating  tlie  laM  words,  Pickle  leans  upon  the  table,  which  sud- 
denly slides  to  the  end  of  the  stage.     Pickle  falls  down.) 

Miss  P.  How's  this  !  I'll  lay  my  life,  this  is  another  trick  of 
that  little  mischievous  wretch. 


THE   SPOILED    CHILD.  D 

Old  P.  An  ungrateful  little  rascal !  to  serve  me  such  a  trick, 
just  as  I  bad  made  an  archbishop  of  him  !  but  as  he  can't  be  far 
oflf,  I'll  immediately  correct  him.  Here,  Thomas — {going  oid,  he 
meets  Thomas  and  servants  bringiug  in  dinner)  But,  adso,  here's 
dinner :  well,  I'll  defer  my  severity  till  that's  over :  but  if  I  don't 
make  him  suffer  for  this  trick,  say  my  name  is  not  Pickle.  {They 
sit  down  to  table,  Pickle  cuts  up  the  pheasant.')  Sister,  this  is  the 
first  pheasant  we  have  had  this  season — it  looks  well ;  shall  I 
help  you  ?  they  say  anger  makes  a  man  dry,  but  mine  has  made 
me  hungry.  Sister,  here's  a  wing  for  you,  and  some  of  the  breast. 

Enter  Susan,  a  cook  maid,  in  haste. 

Susan.  Oh  dear,  sir  !  oh  dear  ma'am  !  oh  dear,  stop  ! 

Old  P.  Stop,  sir — madam — why,  what  ails  the  girl  ?  what's  the 
matter? 

Susan,  Oh,  sir,  my  young  master — ma'am  the  parrot — ma'am 
— oh  dear ! 

Old  P.  Parrot,  and  young  master  f  what  the  devil  does  the  girl 
mean  ? 

Miss  P.  Mean  !  why  as  sure  as  I  live,  that  vile  boy  has  been 
hurting  my  poor  bird,     {gets  up) 

Susan.  Hurting !  no  indeed,  ma'am  ;  I'll  tell  you  the  whole 
truth  ;  J  was  not  to  blame,  indeed  I  was  not,  ma'am  ;  besides  I 
am  morally  certain,  'twas  the  strange  cat  that  kill'd  it  this 
morning. 

Miss  P.  How !  kill'd  it,  say  you  ?  go  on,  let's  hear. 

Susar.  Why,  ma'am,  the  truth  is — I  did  but  just  step  out  of 
the  kitchen  for  a  moment,  but  in  comes  my  young  master,  whips 
the  pheasant  that  was  roasting  for  dinner,  from  off  the  spit,  and 
claps  down  your  ladyship's  parrot,  picked  and  trussed  in  its 
place. 

Old  P.  The  parrot— the  devil  ! 

Miss  P.  Oh  !  the  monster — savage — my  poor  dear  creature  ! 

Old  P.  What  the  plague  !  a  young  dog — did  he  want  to  poisop 
us  with  old  Poll. 

Susan.  And  so,  ma'am,  I  kept  a  basting,  and  a  basting,  and 
never  thougnt  I  was  basting  poor  Poll,  till  just  now,  I  found  the 
pheasant,  and  all  the  parrot's  featliers,  hid  in  the  kitchen  cup- 
board. 

Miss  P.  Oh  my  sweet,  my  ))eantiful  young  bird — I  had  just 
taught  it  to  talk  too  ! 


0  THK    SPOILED    CHILD. 

Old  P.  You  taught  it  to  talk  !  it  taught  you  to  talk,  you 
mean.  I'm  sure  it  was  old  enough,  for  it  was  hatched  in  the 
hard  frost. 

Miso  P.  Well,  brother,  what  excuse  now ;  but  run,  Susan  and 
d'ye  hear,  take  John  and 

Enter  John,  slowly  and  lame,  his  face  and  leg  hound  up. 

Oh  John,  here  is  a  piece  of  business  ! 

John,  {_in  a  country  dialect')  Ay,  ma'am,  sure  eno'  what,  you 
have  heard,  I  see  j  business  indeed,  ma'am :  the  poor  thing  will 
never  recover 

Miss  P.  (joyfully)  What,  John,  is  it  a  mistake  of  Susan's — is 
it  still  alive  ?  but  where,  where  is  it,  John  ? 

John.  Safe  in  stable,  an'  it  was  as  sound — made  her  a  hot  mash 
would  not  touch  it ;  so  crippled,  will  never  have  a  leg  to  put  to 
ground  again ! 

Old  P.  No,  I'll  swear  to  that — for  here's  one  of  them,  (holding 
up  a  leg  upon  a  fork) 

Miss  P.  What  does  the  fool  mean  ?  hot  mash  and  stable — 
tell  me  of  the  parrot,  stupid. 

John,  [drawling)  Parrot,  ma'am  ! 

Miss  P.  Speak,  idiot :  what,  what  is  in  the  stable ;  what  are 
you  talking  of? 

Johi.  Master's  favorite  mare  Daisy,  ma'am,  poor  thmg. 

Old  P.  (alarmed)  What!  how!  any  thing  the  matter  with 
Daisy — I  would  not  part  Tvith  her,  for 

Joh7i.  Ay,  sir,  quite  done  up — won't  fetch  five  pound,  at  next 
fair. 

Aisi  P.  This  dunce's  ignorance  distracts  me ;  come  along, 
Susan.'  [exit.'] 

Old  P.  Why,  what  can  it  be ;  what  the  devil  ails  her  ? 

John.  Why,  sir,  the  long  and  short  of  the  whole  affair  is,  as 
how — he's  cut  me  too,  all  across  the  face — mercy  if  I  don't  lose 
my  eye. 

Old  P.  This  cursed  fellow,  will  drive  me  mad,  the  mare,  the 
mare,  you  scoundrel,  the  mare  ! 

John.  Yes,  sir.  the  mare — then,  too,  my  shins  ;  master  Salve, 
the  surgeon,  says  I  must  noint  them  wi 

Old  P.  Plague  of  your  shins  you  dog;  what's  the  matter  with 
the  mare  7 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  7 

John.  Well,  sir,  then,  as  I  was  coming  home  this  morning  with 
letters  ;  moreover,  I  had  the  charge  of  a  message  to  your  honor 
from  the  two  magpies. 

Old  P.  AVell,  well,  I  know — go  on. 

John.  Coming  over  Black  Down,  what  does  I  see,  but  young 
master  tearing  over  the  turf  upon  Daisy,  so  I  calls  to  him  to 
stop — tho'f  3'our  honor  had  forbid  him  to  ride  her — but  what 
docs  he,  but  smack  his  whip  full  in  my  face,  and  dash  over  the 
gate  into  Stoney  lane. 

Old  P.  Stoney  lane — well,  what — and  so 

John.  Well,  sir,  I'll  tell  you,  farmer  Flail  met  them,  and  had 
but  just  time  to  save  himself  in  a  hedge,  before  smack,  mare  and 
master  comes  down  over  a  stone  heap. 

Old  P.  Oh,  ruined  !  undone  ! 

John.  Ay,  sir  :  poor  thing,  she'll  never  ci'awl  again,  so  cut  , 
but  what's  the  worst  of  the  story . 

Old  P.  What  !  any  thing  worse  ?  how  !  hey  what  1 

John.  Oh  yes,  sir,  much  worse  ;  when  I  rated  him  about  it,  he 
snatches  up  Tom  Carter's  long  whip,  and  lays  me  so  over  the 
legs  ;  and  before  I  could  catch  hold  of  him,  he  slipt  out  of  the 
stable,  and  was  off  like  a  shot. 

Old  P.  Well,  if  ever  I  forgive  him  this — no,  I'll  send  him 
this  moment  back  to  school — school,  zounds,  I'll  send  him  to 
sea. 

Erder  Miss  Pickle. 

Miss  P.  Well,  brother,  here  comes  your  precious  child  ;  he'^ 
muttering  all  the  way  up  stairs  to  himself;  some  fresh  mischief, 
I  warrant. 

Old  P.  Ay,  here  he  comes  :  stand  back,  let's  watch  him  ;  though 
I  never  can  contain  my  passion  long. 

(They  retire  up  stage.) 
Enter  Little  Pickle. 

Lit.  P.  Well,  so  far  all  goes  on  rarely.  Dinner  must  be  near 
ready.  Old  Poll  will  taste  well,  I  dare  say — parrot  and  bread 
sauce  ;  they  suppose  they  are  going  to  have  a  nice  young  pheas- 
ant ;  an  old  parrot's  a  great  rarity,  I'm  sure,  I  can't  help  thinking 
how  devilish  tough  the  drumsticks  will  be — a  fine  piece  of  work 
aunt  will  make,  when  'tis  found  out ;  ecod,  for  aught  I  know, 
that  may  be  better  far  llian  t'other — no  doubt,  Sukey   will   tell, 


0  THi;    SPOLED    CHILD. 

and  John  too,  about  the  horse  ;  a  parcel  of  sneaking  fellows 
always  tell,  tell,  tell,  I  only  wish  I  could  catch  'em  at  school 
once,  that's  all — I'd  pay  'em  well  for  it,  I'd  bo  bound.  Oh,  ho, 
here  they  are,  and  as  1  live,  my  father  and  aunt — it's  all  out,  I 
sec — to  be  sure  I've  not  got  into  a  fine  scrape  now.  I  almost 
wish  I  was  safe  back  at  school  again.  {They  come  fc/rward.')  Oh 
sir,  how  do  you  do  sir  ;  I  was  just  coming  to — 

Old  P.  Come,  come,  no  fooling  now  ;  how  dare  you  look  me  in 
the  face  after  the  mischief  you  have  done. 

Lit.  P.  Mischief,  sii",  what  mischief?  but  pray  tell  me  sir, 
what  have  I  done  ? 

Old  P.  This  impudence  provokes  me  beyond  all — is  it  nothing 
to  behave  as  you  do  ?  distract  my  house,  beat  my  servants ;  will 
nothing  but  my  ruin  satisfy  you.  You  know  the  value  I  set 
upon  that  mare  j^ou  have  spoil'd  forever. 

Lit.  P.  But,  sir,  hear  me — indeed  I  was  not  so  much  to  blame, 
sir,  not  so  very  much. 

Miss  P.  Dont  aggravate  your  faults,  by  pretending  to  excuse 
them  :  no,  thank  heaven,  nothing  can  make  me  good-humored 
again — never,  never,  sirrah,  how  was  it  1 

Lit.  P.  Dear  sir,  I  own  I  was  unfortunate  ;  but  I  had  heard 
you  often  complain  how  wild  and  vicious  Daisj'  was  ;  and  indeed, 
sir,  I  never  saw  you  ride  her,  but  I  trembled  lest  some  sad  ac- 
cident might  befal  you. 

Old  P.  Well,  and  what's  all  this  to  the  purpose  ? 
Lit.  P.  And  so,  sir,  I  resolved,  sooner  than  you  should  suffer, 
to  venture  my  own  neck,  and  so  try  to  tame  her  for  you  ;  that 
was  all,  sir  !  and  so  I  was  no  sooner  mounted,  but  off  she  set — 
I  could  not  help  that,  you  know,  sir,  and  so  this  misfortune 
happened — but  indeed,  sir — 

Old  P.  Come,  child,  don't  deceive  me  ;  could  I    b'^.    sure   this 

was  your  motive 

Lit.  P.  Indeed,  indeed,  sir — 

Old  P.  And  that  it  is  purely  love  and  regard  to  your  old  father, 
that  makes  you  thus  teaze  and  torment  him  ?  perhaps  I  might  be 
inclined  to — 

Joh/i.  Yes,  sir ;  but  'twas  no  love  and  regard  to  I,  made  him 
be  at  me  so. 

Lit.  P.  John,  you  know  you  were  to  blame ;  sir,  indeed  the 
truth  is,  John  was  scolding  me  for  it,  and  when  I  told  him  as  I 


THB    SPOILED    CHILD.  9 

have  told  you,  why  I  did  it,  he  said  that  it  was  no  business  of 
mine,  and  that  if  your  neck  was  broke,  'twas  no  such  great 
matter — 

Old  P.  What,  no  matter  to  have  my  neck  broke  ? 

Lit.  P.  No,  sir,  so  he  said  ;  and  I  was  vexed  to  hear  him  speak 
so  of  you  ;  and  I  believe  I  might  take  up  the  whip,  and  gave  him 
a  cut  or  two  on  the  legs  ;  it  could  not  hurt  him  much. 

Old  P.  Well,  child,  1  believe  I  must  forgive  you,  and  so  shall 
John  too — there  he  is  sorry  he  has  hurt  you  and  will  contrive 
to  requite  you  some  way  or  other,  I  warrant. 

Miss  P.  And  so,  my  injuries  are  to  remain  unredressed,  but  I 
will  not  be  so  treated  ;  unless  your  boy  is  sent  away  instantly, 
I'll  quit  your  house. 

Old  P.  Ay,  ay,  I  had  forgot  poor  Poll ;  what  did  you  roast 
the  parrot  for,  you  young  dog  ? 

Lit.  P.  Why,  sir,  I  knew  you  and  my  aunt  were  so  fond  of  it, 
that  I  thought  she  would  like  to  see  it  well  dressed ;  but,  dear 
aunt  you  must  be  angry  with  me,  and  you  think,  with  reason. 

Miss  P.  Don't  speak  to  me ;  I  am  not  so  weak  as  your  father, 
whatever  you  may  think. 

Lit.  P.  But,  indeed,  aunt,  you  must  hear  me ;  had  I  not  loved 
you  as  I  do,  I  should  not  have  thus  offended  you  ;  but  twas  mere- 
ly my  regard  for  your  character. 

John.  Character  ! — ha,  ha  ! 

[Little  Pickle  heats  John  off,  and  rettmis.] 

Lit.  P.  Why,  dear  aunt,  I  always  heard  that  ladies  never  kept 
parrots  or  lap-dogs,  till  they  could  no  longer  keep  their  lovers  ; 
and  when  at  school,  I  told  'em  you  had  a  parrot,  the  boys  all 
said,  then  you  must  l>e  a  foolish  old  maid. 

Miss  P.  Indeed  !  impudent  young  wretches  ! 

Lit.  P.  Yes,  aunt,  and  so  I  resolved  you  should  no  longer  be 
thouglit  so  ;  for  I  think  you  arc  a  great  deal  too  young,  and  too 
handsome,  for  an  old  maid. 

[Taking  her  Aawd.] 

Old  P.  Come,  sister,  faith  you  must  forgive  him  ;  no  female 
heart  can  withstand  that. 

Miss  p.  Brother,  you  know  T  can  forgive  where  I  see  occasion  ; 
but  though  these  faults  are  thus  excused,  how  will  you  answer  to 
%  charge  of  scandal  and  ill-nature  ? 


10  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

Lit.  P.  Ill-nature,  madam  !  I'm  sure  nobody  can  accuse  me  oi 
that. 

Miss  P.  How  -will  you  justify  the  report  you  spread  of  my 
being  locked  up  in  my  closet  with  Mr.  Tagg,  the  author  ;  can  you 
defend  so  vile  an  attempt  to  injure  my  dear  reputation  ? 

Old  P.  What  !  that  too,  I  suppose,  was  from  your  care  of  her 
character  ;  and  so  to  hinder  your  aunt  from  being  thought  an  old 
maid,  you  locked  her  up  in  her  closet,  with  this  author,  as  he  is 
called. 

Lit.  P.  Nay,  indeed,  dear  madam,  I  beseech  you,  'twas  no  such 
thing — all  I  said  was,  you  were  amusing  yourself  in  your  closet, 
with  a  favorite  author. 

Miss  P.  I  amuse  myself  in  my  closet  with  a  favorite  author — 
worse  and  worse. 

Old  P.  Sister,  have  patience — hear. 

]\Iiss  P.  I  am  ashamed  to  hear  you  support  the  boy  in  such  in- 
solence, I  indeed  who  am  scrupulous  to  a  fault ;  but  no  longer 
will  I  remain  subject  to  such  impertinence.  I'll  quit  your  house, 
sir,  and  you  shall  quit  all  claim  to  my  fortune.  This  moment 
I  will  alter  my  will,  and  leave  my  money  to  a  stranger,  sooner 
than  to  your  family.  [exit 

Old  P.  Leave  my  house  and  her  money  to  a  stranger — oh,  the 
three  per  cent  consols  !  oh  the  India  stock  ! — go,  go,  child,  fly, 
throw  yourself  at  your  aunt's  feet,  implore  her  pardon — say  any 
thing  to  please  her — I  shall  run  distracted  !  oh,  those  consols  I 

Lit.  P.  I  am  gone,  sir  ;  shall  I  say  she  may  die  as  soon  as  she 
pleases  ;  but  she  must  not  leave  her  money  to  a  stranger. 

[exit  latighing 

Old  P.  Ay,  ay,  there's  a  good  boy  ;  say  any  thing  to  please 
her,  that  will  do  very  well,  say  she  may  die  as  soon  as  she 
pleases ;  but  she  must  not  leave  her  money  to  a  stranger.  Sure, 
never  was  man  so  tormented.  Well,  I  thought  when  my  poor 
dear  wife,  Mrs.  Pickle  died,  and  left  me  a  disconsolate  widower, 
I  stood  some  chance  of  being  a  happy  man  ;  but  I  know  not  how 
it  is,  I  could  bear  the  vexation  of  my  wife's  bad  temper,  better 
than  this  woman's  ; — all  ray  married  friends  were  as  miserable 
as  myself,  that  was  some  relief,  but  now,  faith  here  she  comes, 
and  in  fine  ill  humor  no  doubt. 

Enter  Miss  Pickle. 


THK    SPOLF.n    CHILD.  11 

Miss  P.  Brother,  I  have  given  directions  for  my  departure,  and 
am  now  come  to  tell  you,  I  will  persist  in  my  design  unless  you 
this  moment  adopt  the  scheme  I  j-esterday  proposed  for  my 
nephew's  amendment. 

Old  P.  Why,  my  dear  sister,  you  know  there  is  nothing  I 
would  not  do  to  satisfy  and  appease  you  ;  but  for  Heaven's  sake, 
reflect  on  what  a  dangerous  experiment  you  are  now  driving  me 
— to  abandon  my  only  child  ;  to  pretend  that  he  ie  not  mine,  and 
to  receive  a  beggar's  brat  into  my  arms,  impossible. 

Miss  P.  Very  well,  sir.  then  I  am  gone.  [ffoijis! 

Old  P.  Stop,  sister,  stop — was  ever  man  so  used  ;  how  long  is 
this  scheme  of  yours  to  last  ?  how  long  am  I  to  be  deprived  of 
him  ? 

3Iiss  P.  IIow  long ;  why,  until  he  is  brought  duly  to  reflect 
on  his  bad  behavior,  which  nothing  will  induce  him  to  do,  as 
soon  as  thinking  himself  no  longer  your  son,  but  the  child  ot 
poor  parents.  I  yesterday  spoke  to  Margaret,  his  old  nurse,  and 
she  fully  comprehends  the  whole  affair. 

Old  P.  But  why,  in  addition  to  the  quitting  my  own  child,  am 
I  to  have  the  torment  of  receiving  hers.  "Won't  the  sending  him 
away  be  sufBcient. 

Miss  P.  Unless  the  plot  is  managed  my  way,  I  will  have 
nothing  to  say  to  it,  but  be  gone.  Can't  you  see  that  his  dis- 
tress, at  losing  his  situation,  will  bo  augmented  by  seeing  it 
possessed  by  another.  Come,  come,  brother,  a  week's  purgatory 
will  reform  him,  depend  upon  it. 

Old  P.  Why  to  be  sure,  as  you  say,  'twill  reform  him,  and  as 
we  shall  have  our  eyes  upon  him  all  the  while, — and  Margaret 
was  his  own  nurse. 

Miss  P.  You  may  be  sure  she  will  take  care  of  him  ;  well, 
since  she  is  settled,  the  sooner  'tis  done  the  better. — I'll  send 
for  him  this  moment. 

Old  P.  I  see  you  are   finally  resolved,  and  no   other   way  will 
content  you — well,  heaven  protect  my  poor  child. 
Enter  Littlk  Picklk. 

Lit.  P.  Did  you  send  for  me,  aunt  1 

Old  P.  Child,  come  hither;  I  have  a  secret  to  disclose  to  you, 
at  which  you  will  be  surprised. 

Lit.  P.  A  secret,  sir ! 

Miss  P.  Yes,  and  one  which  requii'os   your  utmost  courage  to 


12  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

hear — you  are  no  longer  to  consider  that  person  as  your  father 
— he  is  not  so.  Margaret,  who  nursed  you,  has  confessed,  and 
the  thing  is  sufficiently  proved,  that  you  are  not  his  son,  but 
hers ;  she  exchanged  you,  when  an  infant,  for  my  real  nephew  ; 
and  her  conscience  has  at  last,  compelled  her  to  make  the  discovery. 
Lit.  P.  I  another  person's  child  !  impossible!  ah,  you  arc  only 
joking  with  me  now,  to  see  whether  I  love  you  or  not ;  but  in- 
deed, I  am  yours — my  heart  tells  me  I  am  only,  only  yours. 

Old  P.  I  am  afraid  you  deceive  yourself;  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  the  truth  of  Margaret's  account. 

Lit.  P.  Good  heavens  dear  sir,  don't  say  so — I  will  not  be- 
lieve it — it  can  never  be — must  I  then  give  up  all  I  respect  and 
love  to  the  possession  of  another  ?  believe  me,  sir,  it  is  not  the 
splendor  of  riches  I  repine  at  quitting  :  'tis  the  happiness  I  never 
till  now  felt  half  the  value  of — the  happiness  of  calling  you  father. 

Old  P.  Assure  yourself  of  our  protection  ;  but  no  longer  can 
you  remain  in  this  house.  I  must  not  do  an  injury  to  my  own 
child  :  you  belong  to  others,  to  them  you  must  now  go  j  for  I 
here  declare  you  are  not  my  child. 

Lit.  P.  Will  not  my  soiTOw,  my  tears,  atone  for  my  faults — 
sweet  is  the  look  of  repentance  in  the  heart  resolved  never  to  of- 
fend again — let  it  then  now  plead  for  me  ;  yet  sir,  for  an  instant 
hear  me — pity  me — can  you  resolve  to  turn  from  your  presence 
one,  once  so  beloved — can  you  so  soon  forget  how  often  you 
have  pressed  me  to  your  heart,  and  swore  I  was  dearer  to  you 
than  your  life.  What !  no  answer  ? — dear  aunt,  if  yet  I  dare  to 
call  you  so,  intercede  in  my  behalf.  Heavens !  she  knows  me 
not  j  indeed  I  can  scarcely  repent  having  ever  used  you  ill — I 
know  you  must  hate  me,  but  believe  me,  I  never  had  any  ill 
will  or  malice  toward  you.  {Tliey  iceep)  Ah,  then,  too  sure,  I 
know  that  I  am  not  your  child — or  would  distress  which  draws 
tears  of  pity,  fail  to  move  nature  in  you  ? 

Miss  P.  Comfort  yourself:  we  must  ever  consider  you  with 
compassif)n  and  regard  :  Vjut  now  you  must  be  gone. — Margaret 
is  waiting  without  to  receive  you. 

Lit,  P.  Then  farewell — I  must  away ;  but  at  least  forgive  me ; 
pardon  the  faults  I  have  committed;  you  cannot  sure,  in  pity, 
deny  me  that. 


the  spoiled  child.  13 

Song — Little  Pickle. 

Since  then  I'm  doomed  this  sad  reverse  to  prove, 

To  quit  each  object  of  my  infant  care  : 

Torn  from  an  honored  parent's  tender  love, 

And  driven  the  keenest  storms  of  fate  to  bear, 
Ah,  then  forgive  me,  pitied  let  me  part, 
Your  frowns,  too  sure ,  would  break  my  sinking  heart. 

Oft  have  you  said  I  was  your  only  joy  ; 
Ah,  wretch  to  forfeit  such  an  envied  bliss  ; 
You  too  have  deigned  to  call  me  darling  boy. 
And  owned  your  fondness  with  a  mother's  kiss, 
Ah  then  forgive  me,  &&. 

"Where'er  I  go,  uhate'cr  my  lowly  state, 
Yet  grateful  mem'ry  still  shall  linger  here  ; 
Perhaps,  when  musing  o'er  my  cruel  fate, 
You  still  may  greet  me  with  a  tender  tear. 

Ah  then  forgive,  &c.  {exeunt 


ACT  11. 

Scene  i. — A  parlor. 
Enter  Miss  Pickle  and  Margery. 

Mar.  And  so,  as  I  was  telling  your  ladyship,  poor  little  roas- 
ter does  so  take  it  to  heart,  and  so  weep  and  wail  it  almost 
makes  me  cry  to  hear  him. 

Miss  P.  Well,  since  he  begins  already  to  repent,  his  punish- 
ment shall  be  but  short ;  but  have  you  brought  your  boy  with 
you? 

Mar.  Ay,  have  I — poor  Tommy ;  he  came  from  aboard  a  ship, 
but  now  ;  and  is  so  grown  and  altered — sure  enough,  he  believes 
every  word  I  have  told  him,  as  your  honor  ordered  me — and  1 
warrant  he  is  so  sheepish  and  shamefaced — but  here  comes  my 
master,  he  has  heard  it  already 

Enter  Old  Pickle. 

But  my  lady,  shall  I  fetch  my  poor  Tommy  to  you  ? — lie's  wait 
ing  without. 

Old  P.  What,  that  ill-looking  young  rascal  in  the  hall — he  with 
the  jacket  and  trowsers  "i" 

Mar.  Ay,  your  honor.     What,  then  you  have  seen  him  ? 

Old  P.  Seon  him,  ay,  and  felt   him   too — the   booby  met  mo 


14  THR  SPOI.ED  cnii.n. 

l>olt  at  the  corner — run  bis  cursed  carroty  pole  full  in   my   face, 
and  has  loosened  half  the  teeth  in  my  head,  I  believe. 

Mar.  Poor  lad,  he's  a  sailor  and  but  awkward  as  yet,  and  so 
shy  I  warrant  ye  ; — but  will  your  honor  be  kind  to  him  ? 

Old  P.  Kind  to  him — why  I  am  to  pass  for  his  father,  am 
not  I? 

Mar.  Ay,  I  wish  your  honor  had  been  poor  Tommy's  father  : 
but  no  such  luck  for  me,  as  I  say  to  my  husband. 

Old  P.  Indeed  your  husband  is  very  much  obliged  to  you,  and 
so  am  I. 

Mar.  And  is  he  then  to  be  a  fine  young  gentleman,  and  your 
honor's  son  ? 

Old  P.  Eh,  what,  my  son  ?  no,  no,  not  so.  I  shall  have  this 
cursed  Tommy  palmed  upon  me,  by  and  by,  for  my  own  child. 

Miss  P.  Why,  brother  ;  the  woman  knows  that  well  enough 
already.     Has  she  not  had  her  instructions  from  me  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  I  know  'tis  only  make  believe:  but  do  your  hon- 
or, let  me  see  my  poor  Tommy  once  dressed  in  his  fine  smart 
clothes  ? 

Old  P.  Damn  me,  I  don't  half  like  that  Tommy. 

Miss  P.  But  now  go  and  fetch  him  here  to  us — I  should  like 
much  to  see  him. 

Mar.  Do  you,  madam,  speak  kindly  to  him  ;  for  my  poor  boy, 
is  so  daunted,  he'll  never  dare  look  in  your  honor's  face. 

Old  P.  Face  !  I  hope  he  won't  look  quite  so  close  to  mine 
again. 

Mar.  He's  quite  dashed,  indeed,  madam.  {exit 

Old  P.  Yes,  and  he  has  dashed  some  of  my  teeth  out,  plague 
on  him. 

Miss  p.  Now,  Mr.  Pickle,  I  insist  upon  you  observing  a  prop- 
er decorum  and  behaviour  towards  this  poor  lad — observe  the 
condescension  of  my  deportment.  Methinks  I  feel  a  strange  in- 
clination already  in  his  favor ;  perhaps  I  may  advance  him,  by 
and  by,  to  me  my  page  ;  shall  I,  brother  ? — oh  here  he  comes, 
and  I  declare,  as  prepossessing  a  countenance  as  ever  I  saw. 

Enter  little  Pickle,  dressed  like  a  sailor,  with  Margery. 

Miss  P.  Come  hither,  child — was  there  ever  such  an  engaging 
air. 

Mar.  Go,  Tommy  do  as  you  are  bid,  there's  a  good  boy  ;  thank 
his  honor  for  his  goodness  to  yuu 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  15 

Lit.  P.  Be  you  the  old  fellow  that's  just  come  to  be  my  father  1 

Old  P.  [aside)  Old  fellow  !  he's  devilish  dashed,  to  be  sure — 
down  in  the  mouth,    quotha — the  most  impudent   young  dog   I 

ever  saw yes,  I  am  the  old  fellow,  as  you  call  it — will  you  be 

a  good  child  ? 

Lit.  P.  Ay,  but  what  will  you  give  me — must  I  be  a  good 
boy  for  nothing? 

Old  P.  [mivticking]  Good  for  nothing  !  nay,  that  I'll  swear  you 
are  already  :  but  I  must  dissemble  a  little.  [aside]  Well,  and 
how  long  have  you  been  come  home  from  sea,  eh  ?  how  do  you 
like  a  sailor's  life  ? 

Song. — Little  Pickle. 

I  am  a  brisk  and  sprightly  lad, 

But  just  come  home  from  sea,  sir. 
Of  all  the  lives  I  ever  led, 

A  sailor's  life  for  me,  sir. 

Yeo,  yeo,  yeo  !  yeo,  yeo,  yeo  ! 
Whilst  the  boatswain  pipes  all  hands, 
With*  a  yeo,  yeo,  yeo,  sir. 

What  girl  but  loves  the  merry  tar, 

We  o'er  the  oceau  roam,  sir, 
lu  every  clime  we  find  a  port, 

la  every  port  a  home,  sir. 

Yeo,  yeo,  yeo,  &c. 

But  when  our  country's  foes  are  nigh 

Each  hastCQS  to  bis  gun,  sir. 
We  make  the  boasting  Frenchman  fly 

And  bang  the  haughty  dons,  sir. 

Yeo,  yeo,  yeo,  &c. 

Our  foes  subdued,  oQce  more  on  shore, 

We  spend  our  cash  with  glee,  sir. 
And  wheUj8,ll's  gone,  we  drown  our  care, 

And  out  again  to  sea,  sir. 

Yeo,  yeo,  yeo  !  yeo,  yeo,  yeo  I 
And  when  all's  gone,  again  to  sea. 
With  a  yeo,  yeo,  yeo,  sir. 

Old  P.  So  this  is  the  way  I'm  to  be  entertained  in  future,  with 
forecastle  jokes,  and  tarpaulin  songs. 

Miss  P.  Brother,  do  not  speak  so  harshly  to  the  poor  lad ;  he's 
amongst  strangers,  and  wants  encouragement.  Come  to  me,  my 
pretty  boy,  I'll  be  your  friend. 


1(3  THE   SPOILED    CHILD. 

Lit  P.  Friend  !  Here's  an  old  hulk.  Oh,  what,  you're  my 
grandmother — father,  must  I  not  call  her  granny  ? 

Miss  F.  Grandmother  !  is  this  stupidity  or  impudence  ? 

Old  P.  What,  he  wants  encouragement,  sister — jes,  poor  soul, 
he's  amongst  strangers  ;  he's  found  out  one  relation,  however, 
sister.     This  boy's  assurance  diverts  me  ;  I  like  him.  [aside\ 

LU.  P.  Here's  a  squall  coming  !  granny's  mortish  cross.  La, 
father,  what  makes  your  mother  there,  look  so    foul-weathered  ? 

Miss  P.  Mother,   indeed  ! 

Old  P.  Oh,  nothing  at  all,  my  dear,  she's  the  best  humored 
person  in  the  world  ;  go  throw  yourself  at  her  feet  and  ask  her 
for  her  blessing — perhaps  she  may  give  you  something. 

Lit.  P.  A  blessing  !  I  shan't  be  much  richer  for  that  neither; 
I'll  throw  myself  at  her  feet  and  ask  her  for  a  guinea — [kneels] — 
dear  granny,  give  me  your  watch,  [catches  hold  of  ii.^  La,  what  a 
pretty  one  ! 

Miss  P.  Stand  off,  wretch — am  I  to  be  robbed,  as  well  as  in- 
sulted ? 

Mar.  Fie,  child  ;  learn  to  behave  better. 

Lit.  p.  Behave  myself,  yon  old  witch — learn  you  to  behave 
better  yourself.  What  do  )-ou  do  here?  up  with  your  helm,  and 
sheer  off — cut  and  run,  you  old  hag.  (^Beats  her  off.)  I  am  a 
young  gentleman,  now,  and  must  not  remember  poor   relations. 

{Exit. 

Old  P.  Well,  sister,  this  plan  of  yours  succeeds,  I  hope,  to  your 
satisfaction.  He'll  make  a  mighty  pretty  page,  sister — what  an 
engaging  air  he  has,  sister.  This  is  some  revenge  for  her  treat- 
ment of  my  poor  boy.  (^Aside.) 

Miss  P.  You  may  well  triumph  in  the  success  of  your  mean 
artifices.  I  perceive  this  to  be  all  a  contrivance,  and  the  boy  is 
taught  to  insult  me  thus — but,  sir,  others  may  know  my  value, 
though  you  chose  to  remain  in  ignorance  of  it  ;  and  ere  long,  sir, 
I  can  tell  3'ou,  j'ou  may  repent  of  this  unparalleled  treatment  of 
unprotected  innocence.  {Exit, 

Old  P.  Others  know  her  value  !  what,  sho  means  her  lover,  the 
player-man,  I  suppose-  but  I'll  watch  her,  and  her  consols  too  ; 
and  if  I  catch  him  again  in  my  house,  it  shall  be  his  last  appear- 
ance this  season,  I  can  tell  him  that ;  and  the  next  part  he  plays 
shall  be  Captain  Macheath,  in  the  prison  scene,  egad.  {Exit. 


THE   SPOILED   CHILD.  17 

Enter  Little  Pickle. 

Lit.  P.  There  they  go — ha,  ha,  ha !  my  scheme  has  gone  on 
rarely,  rather  better  than  their's,  I  think — blessings  on  the  old 
nurse  for  consenting  to  it.  I'll  teach  them  to  turn  people  out  of 
doors.  Let  me  see,  what  trick  shall  I  play  them  now— suppose 
I  set  the  house  on  fire  ?  no,  no,  'tis  too  soon  for  that  as  yet — 
that  will  do  very  well  by  and  by. — Let  me  consider — I  wish 
I  could  see  my  sister,  I'd  discover  myself  to  her,  and  then  we 
might  contrive  something  together  nicely — that  stair-case  leads 
to  her  room  ;  I'll  try  and  call  her.  [goes  to  the  door  and  listens.] 
There's  no  body  in  the  way,  hist,  hist;  Maria,  Maria:  she  hears 
me — she's  coming  this  way  [runs  and  hides  himself.] 

Enter  Maria. 

Maria.  Sure  somebody  called  me,  [looks  round]  no,  there's  no- 
body here;  heighho,  I've  almost  cry'd  myself  blind  about  my 
poor  brother,  for  so  I  shall  always  call  him,  ay,  and  love  him 
too.  Well,  I'll  e'en  go  back  and  lock  myself  up  in  my  room,  and 
not  see  the  stupid  wretch  they  have  taken  into  the  house,  I  am 
Fesolved.     {Going.') 

Lit.  p.  [Runningt  forward.]  Maria,  sister,  stop  an  instant. 

Maria.  How's  this — Maria !  sister  ! 

Lit.  P.  What,  don't  you  know  me  then  ;  can  you  so  soon  have 
forgotten  your  brother  1 

Maria.  My  brother  Charles,  impossible  ! 

Lit.  P.  'Tis  e'en  so,  faith  ;  'twas  all  a  trick  about  the  nurse  and 
child  ;  I  coaxed  the  old  woman  to  confess  the  whole  to  me — 
borrowed  this  dress  as  you  see,  and  am  returned  to  plague  'em  a 
little  now — that's  all.  But  now  you  and  I  must  consult  togeth- 
er how  to  revenge  ourselves ;  I'll  let  'em  see  who's  the  best  at 
tricking. 

Maria.  Dear  Charles,  I'm  so  glad  and  overjoyed  ! 

Lit.  P.  Well,  well,  be  glad  and  overjoyed  when  you  are  more 
at  leisure :  for  now  we  must  proceed  to  business — let  mc  see — 
how  shall  we  vex  them  ?  what  shall  it  be  ?  you  can't  contrive  to 
kill  yourself  for  the  loss  of  me,  can  you  ?  that  would  have  a  lino 
effect.  Is  there  nothing  I  can  think  of  ?  suppose  you  protend  to 
fall  in  love  with  me,  and  we  run  away  together  ? 

Maria.  That  will  do  admirably.  Depend  upon  my  playing  my 
part  with  a  good  will  :  for  I  owe  them  some  revenge  for  their 
treatment  of  you  ;  besides,  you  know  I  can  refuse  you  nothing. 


18  THE    SPOILED    CHILD. 

Enter  Old  Pickle,  heliind. 

Lit.  P.  Thank  yju  a  thousand  times  my  dearest  Maria  ;  thus 
then  we'll  contrive  it.  {^seeing  old  Pickle  coming  behind^they  prete?id 
to  vhisper.) 

Old  P.  What  !  how's  this  ?  dear  Maria,  and  I'll  refuse  you  noth- 
ing. Death  and  the  devil  !  my  daughter  has  fallen  in  love  with 
that  young  scoundrel,  and  his  yeo,  yeo,  yeo  ;  see  too,  they  em- 
brace. [Comes  fortmrd.]  Mighty  well,  young  madam,  'tis  mighty 
well,  but  come,  you  shall  be  locked  up  immediately  !  and  you, 
you  youdg  rascal,  shall  be  whipped  out  of  the  house. 

Lit.  P.  Avast,  you're  taken  all  a  back  there  ;  we  will  not  part ; 
here's  my  anchor  fixed.     Here  I  am,  moored  for  ever. 

{Old  Pickle  takes  hold  of  her  haiul  to  take  her  away  y  site  resists, 
and  Little  Pickle  detains  her  by  the  other  hand.) 

Maria.  No,  we'll  never  part.     Oh,  cruel  fate  ! 

Old  P.  He's  infected  her  with  his  assurance  already.  "What, 
you  young  minx,  do  you  own  you  love  him  ? 

Maria.  Love  him,  sir  I  adore  aim. ;  and  in  spite  of  your  utmost 
opposition,  ever,  ever  shall.  Oh,  sir,  {kneels)  let  me  now 
confess  to  you,  the  inmost  secret  of  my  breaking  heart ;  I  have 
long  loved  him  ;  long  have  I  felt  the  resistless  passion  j  long  have 
I  known 

Old  P.  (interrupting  her.)  Oh,  ruined  !  undone  !  what  a  wretch- 
ed old  man  I  am  :  but,  i\Iaria,  child 

Maria.  Think  not  to  dissuade  me,  sir — vain  attempt  !  no,  sir, 
my  affections  are  fixed,  irrevocably  fixed,  never  to  be  recall- 
ed. 

Old  P.  Oh  dear,  what  shall  I  do  ?  what  will  become  of  me? 
but  how  is  this,  you  young  villain  ;  how  have  you  dared  to  talk 
to  her  thus  ?  oh,  a  plague  on  all  mj  plots  ;  I've  lost  my  daugh- 
ter, and  for  aught  I  know,  my  son  too.  Why,  child,  he  is  a  poor 
beggar,  he's  not  worth  a  sixpence. 

Maria.  My  soul  abhors  so  low  a  thought  !  I  despise  wealth — 
know,  sir,  I  cherish  nobler  sentiments  ; 

The  generous  youth  shall  own, 
I  loved  him  for  himself  alone, 

Old  P.  What,  poetr}'^,  nay,  tht-n  'tis  time  to  prevent  further 
mischief — go  to  your  room;  a  good  key  shall  insure  your  safety  5 


THE   SPOILED    CHILD.  19 

and  this  young  rascal  shall  go  back  to  sea,  and  his  yeo,  yeo,  yeo, 
if  he  will. 

Maria.  I  obey  your  harsh  commands,  sir,  and  am  gone  ;  but, 
alas,  I  leave  my  heart  behind  me. 

[Exit  Maria. 

Old  P.  Now,  for  you  ;  don't  look  so  audacious,  sirrah,  don't 
fancy  you  belong  to  me  ;  I  utterly  disclaim  you. 

Lit.  P.  {Laughing.)  But  that's  rather  too  late,  now  ;  there's  a 
squall  ;  steer  small,  old  one,  you  have  publicly  said  I  was  your 
son,  and  damme,  I'll  make  you  stand  to  it,  sir. 

Old  P.  The  devil — here's  an  affair — John,  Thomas,  William, 
Susan  ;  I  shall  be  bullied,  pressed,  and  murdered  for  aught  I  know, 
by  this  young  pirate. 

Lit.  P.  No,  no,  I'll  not  lose  so  good  a  father ;  one  so  kind  to 
me — 

Enter  servants. 

Old  P.  Take  that  fellow,  and  turn  out  him  of  doors  imme- 
diately ;  take  him,  I  say. 

Servants.  Fellow  !  who,  sir  1 

Old  P.  Who,  why  zounds,  don't  you  see  him  1 

John.  What,  my  new  young  master  !  no,  sir,  I've  turned  one 
out  already,  I'll  turn  out  no  more. 

Lit.  P.  That's  my  hearty ;  giv's  your  hand,  shipmate.  {Shakes 
hands.) 

Old  P.  He  is  not  your  young  master  ;  he's  no  son  of  mine  ; 
away  with  him,  I  say. 

Susan.  Why,  sir,  did  not  you  tell  us  but  now,  that  old  Mar- 
gery's child  was  your  real  son  ;  and  is  not  that  he  ?  did  not  my 
lady  tell  us  all,  we  were  to  look  upon  him  as  her  nephew  ? 

Juhn.  Wh}"-,  master  only  does  this  to  try  us,  and  see  whether 
we  mind  his  orders  or  not. 

Servahts.  Ay,  ay,  that's  all,  that's  it. 

Susan.  No,  sir,  we  know  our  young  master  too  well,  for  all 
that — not  your  son,  why  he's  like  your  honor,  as  one  pea  is  like 
another. 

Lit.  P.  That's  my  good  girl.  {Kisses  Susan.) 

John.  Aj^,  heaven  bless  him  ;  and  may  he  shortly  succeed  your 
honor,  in  your  estate  and  fortune. 

[Exeunt  servants* 


20  THE   SPOILED    CHILD. 

Old  P.  Rogues,  villains  !  I  am  abused,  robbed  ;  there's  a  con- 
spiracy formed  against  me  ;  and  this  little  pirate  is  at  the  head  of 
the  gang. 

Lit.  P.  Nice  and  no  near,  messmate  ;  you  see  you're  all  out  in 
your  dead  reckoning ;  your  sun's  under  a  cloud,  and  your  obser- 
vation not  worth  a  rope's  end. 

Elder  servant  with  a  letter. 

Old.  P.  Odso,  but  here's  a  letter  from  my  poor  boy.     I    see  ; 
this  is  comfort  indeed.     "Well,  I'll  send  for  him  home  without 
further  delay.  {Reads.) 
'  Honored  sir, 

'  I  heartily  repent  of  having  so  far  abused  your  goodness  whilst 
I  was  blest  with  your  protection ;  but  as  I  fear  no  penitence 
will  ever  restore  me  to  your  favor,  I  have  resolved  to  put  it  out 
of  my  power  again  to  oflfend  you,  by  instantly  bidding  adieu  to 
my  country  for  ever.' 

How's  this  ?  adieu  to  his  country  for  ever.  Here,  John,  run ; 
go  directly  to  Margery,  and  fetch  home  my  son,  and — 

Lit.  p.  You  may  save  yourself  the  trouble,  'tis  too  late — ^you'll 
never  bring  him  to  now,  make  as  many  signals  or  lire  as  many 
guns  as  you  please. 

Old  P.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Lit.  P.  Mean !  why  he  and  I  have  changed  births,  you  know. 

Old  P.  Changed  births  ! 

Lit.  P.  Ay,  I'm  got  into  his  hammock,  and  he's  got  into  mine, 
that's  all ;  he's  some  leagues  off  at  sea  by  this  time  ;  for  the  tide 
serves,  and  the  wind's  fair  ;  Botany-bay's  the  word,  my  boys, 

(^Exit  singing  yeo.) 

Old  P.  Botany-bay  !  well,  then  my  misery  is  indeed  complete  ; 
will  nobody  do  me  the  kindness  to  shoot  me  through  the  head — 
unhappy  Pickle ;  but  I'll  instantly  see  about  this  myself;  and  if 
'tis  true,  why  I'll  come  back  just  to  blow  your  brains  out,  and 
so  bo  either  hanged  or  sent  to  Botany-bay,  after  him. 

(^ExeurU.) 


Scene  II. — A  garden,  a  seat  in  a  hower. 

Enter  Miss  Pickle. 

Miss  P.  This  is  the  hour  of  my  appointment  with  Mr.  Tagg, 
and  ray  brother's  absence  is  favorable  indeed.     "Well,  after  such 


THE    SPOILED    CHILD.  2l 

treatment,  can  lie  be  surprised  f  I  throw  myself  into  the  arms 
of  so  passionate  an  admirer.  My  fluttering  little  heart  tells  me, 
this  is  an  important  crisis  in  my  happiness  ;  how  much  these 
vile  men  have  to  answer  for,  in  thus  bewitching  us  silly  girls. 

Tagg  behind  the  scenes. 

The  heavy  hours  are  past 

That  part  my  love  and  me,   (enters) 

My  longing,  eyes  may  hope  at  last 
Their  only  joy  to  see. 

Thus  most  charming  of  her  sex,  do  I  prostrate  myself  before 
the  shrine  of  your  beauty.  (Kneels.) 

Miss  P.  Mr.  Tagg,  I  have  seized  this  opportunity  to  meet  you  ; 
but  why,  my  dear  Mr.  Tagg,  will  you  persist  1  I  never  can  be 
yours. 

Tagg.  And  is  then  my  happiness  a  dream,  an  airy  nothing,  a 
phantom  ?  oh,  barbarous  fair  one  !  pity  a  wretch  whose  only 
crime  is  love.  If  I  am  mad,  'tis  you  have  made  me  so,  adorable 
lovely — what  shall  I  ca'l  you  ?  thou  most  beautiful  Ophelia. 

Miss  P.  Indeed,  Mr.  Tagg,  you  make  me  blush  with  your 
compliments. 

Tagg.  Compliments  !  oh  call  not,  by  that  hacknied  term,  the 
voice  of  truth — lovely  nymph,  ah,  deign  to  hear  me  !  I'll  teach 
you  what  it  is  to  love — oh,  of  Leinster  famed  for  maidens  fair. 

Miss  P.  Love  !  dear  Mr.  Tagg,  oh  moderate  your  transports, 
be  advised,  think  no  more  of  this  fatal  passion. 

Tagg.  Think  no  more  of  it !  can  love  be  controlled  by  advice  1 

Miss  P.  Will  Cupid  our  mothers  obey, 

Though  my  heart  was  as  frozen  as  ice, 
At  his  flame  'twould  have  melted  away. 

Tagg.  Ob,  then,  consent,  my  angel,  to  join  our  hearts  in  one, 
or  give  me  death  in  a  bumper. 

3Iiss  P.  Can  I  refuse  any  thing  to  such  a  lover.  (Aside)  But 
were  I,  my  dear  friend,  to  consent  to  our  tender  union,  how  could 
we  contrive  our  escape  ?  my  brother's  vigilance  would  overtake 
us,  and  you  might  have  reason  to  roj)cnt  his  anger. 

Tagg.  Oh,  he's  a  goth,  a  mere  Vandyke,  my  love, 
Say  what  men  will,  wedlock's  a  pill 
Bitter  to  swallow  and  hard  of  digestion: 


22  THE    SFOILKD    CHILD. 

But  fear  makes  the  danger  seem  double, 

Say,  Hymen,  what  mischief  can  trouble — 
I  have  contrived  the  plot,  and  every  scene  of  the  elopement,  but 
in  this  shady  blest  retreat,  will  I  unfold  it  all — let's  sit  down  like 
Jessica,  and  the  fair  Lorenza,  here — 

Would  you  taste  the  noontide  air 

To  yon  fragrant  bower  repair. 

{tliey  sit  down  in  the  hmcer.) 
Since  music  is  the  food  of  love,  we'll  to  the  nightingale's  com- 
plaining note. 
Tune  our  distresses,  and  record  our  throats. 

{While  Tagg  is  speaking^  little  Pickle  steals  around  the  stage,  gets 
behind  tlie  bower  and  sews  their  clothes  together  y  then  goes  <mt  un- 
perceived.) 

Miss  P.  Oh,  I  could  listen  thus  forever  to  the  united  charms 
of  love  and  harmony  ,  but  how  are  we  to  plan  our  escape  ? 

Tagg.  In  a  mean  and  low  attire  muffled  up  in  a  great  coat, 
and  distinguished  with  a  large  hat  will  I  await  you,  in  this  happy 
spot ;  but  why  my  soul,  why  not  this  instant  fly  ?  this  moment 
will  I  seize  upon  my  tender  bit  of  lamb — I  had  her  there  as  dead 
as  mutton.  {Aside) 

Miss  P.  No,  I'm  not  yet  equipped  for  an  elopement,  and 
what's  of  more  consequence  still,  I  have  not  got  with  me  a 
casket  of  jewels,  I  have  prepared,  rather  too  valuable  to  leave 
behind. 

Tagg.  That  is  indeed  of  some  consequence  to  me.  {Aside 

My  diamond,  my  pearl. 
Then  be  a  good  girl 
Until  I  come  to  you  again. 

Here  then  will  I  remain,  until  my  charmer  returns  again  to  bless 
my  longing  sight. 

Miss  P.  Remain  here,  not  for  the  universe  ;  my  brother  may 
find  you  here  on  his  return  ;  no,  you  shall  go  and  come  back 
again  in  the  disguise  immediately  ;  and  if  fortune  favors  faithful 
lovers'  vows,  I  will  contrive  to  slip  out  to  you. 

Tagg,  Dispose  of  me  as  you  please,  lovely  creature,  but  don't 
forget  the  casket. 

Eider  Liitle  PiCKj.r.  iu/ialiig. 


THK    SPOILED    CHILn.  23 

Lit,  p.  Grann}',  grannj^ 

Ta</g.  Granny  !  what  the  devil  does  the  fellow  mean  by  granny  1 
Miss  P.  What  rude  interruption  is  this  1 
Lit.  P.  Oh,  nothing  at  all,  only  father's  coming,  that's  all. 
Taffg.  [Both  get  up.)  The  devil  he  is ;  what  a  catastrophe  1 
]\Iiss  P.  Such  an  eclaircissement ;  one  last  Adieu.  [_They  emhr-ace^ 
Lit.  P.  Here  he  comes,  here  he  comes. 

Miss  P.  Think  you,  we  shall  ever  meet  again  ?  [Find  they  are 

fastened,  struggle] 
Tagg.  Damme,  if  I  think  we  shall  ever  part. 
Miss  P.  Don't  detain  me.     \Yon't  you  let  me  go  ?     [Tenderly] 
Tagg.  Go  !  zounds,  I  wish  you  were  to  the  devil. 

[Tliey  struggle;  Miss  Pickle  tears  off  the   skirts  of  Tagg's   coat ; 
they  rim  off  different  ways.] 

Enter  Old  Pickle. 

Old  P.  Well,  well,  all's  not  so  bad  as  I  feared  ;  he's  not  yet 
gone  to  sea,  and  Margery  assures  me  I  shall  see  him  ere  long  ; 
and  she  says,  so  changed,  quite  another  thing  from  what  he  was  ; 
such  an  alteration  !  but  now  let  me  look  after  my  sister  ;  thought 
she  made  me  play  the  fool,  I'll  take  care  to  prevent  her.  I  must 
not  give  up  the  consols  so  :  but  adso,  I  have  not  seen  my  daugh- 
ter, what  a  number  of  cares  my  poor  brain  has  to  perplex  it  ; 
well,  I'll  to  her  first,  least  young  yeo,  yeo,  yeo,  should  really 
at  her  shipt  off,  as  she  pretended  my  poor  boy  was,  and  when 
•'ve  secured  fifteen,  I'll  look  after  fifty.  But  who  is  coming 
.lere  ;  I'll  conceal  m3\self  and  watch. 

Enter  Miss  Pickle,  with  a  casket. 

Miss  p.  ]\Ir.  Tagg,  Mr.  Tagg,  [passing  over  stage  to  bowcr^  I  hope 
he's  returned  ;  how  I  tremble.  Kind  Cupid  guide  your  votary's 
feeble  steps,  [catches  hold  of  Little  Pickle,  who  is  behind  the  hoicer.] 
Uh,  my  dear  Mr.  Tagg,  take  the  casket,  and  let  us  begone  ;  let's 
make  haste  that  we  may  escape  before  my  brother  comes  back 
— he  shall  find  an  empty  house  for  me,  I  can  tell  him  that. 

Lit  P.  [kissing  her  hand.]  This  way,  this  way — [runs  towards 
Old  Pickle,  he  comes  forward  and  stops  them^] 

Old  P.  Your  most  obedient  humble  servant,  madam  ;  well  said, 
fifty,  egad.  Sir,  your  most  obsequious,  Mr.  Alexander  Mr. 
Komeo,  Mr.  Devilduin — what,  are  you  in  masquerade,  eh  ?  what, 
John,  Thomas,  you  shall  not    want    alU-udaiils,    miirlily  i*iince  ' 


24  THE   SPOILED   CHILD. 

])ut  mayhap,  you  had  rather  slept  in  a  castle,  great  hero— we 
have  a  convenient  jail  close  by,  where  you  will  be  rery  safe 
most  illusti'ious  chief. 

Miss  P,  Heavens  !  a  jail  ?  poor  dear  Mr.  Tagg,  a  victim  to  his 
love  for  me.  Oh,  let  us  implore  bis  forgiveness,  intreat  him  to 
release  j-ou.  \_lMtU  Pickle  throios  off  his  disguise.'] 

Lit.  P.  Thus,  then,  let  me  implore  for  pardon.  May  I  pre- 
sume to  offer  myself  an  humble  supplicant  for  mercy,  before  an 
offended,  a  justly  offended  parent — will  he  yet  listen  to  my  as- 
surance of  love  and  respect,  and  believe  that  a  repentance,  so  sin 
cere  as  mine,  will  never  suffer  my  heart  again  to  wander  from 
its  duty  towards  him. 

Old  P.  What's  this,  my  son  !  explain  this  mystery. 

Miss  P.  \_Aside.'\  "What  an  equivoque  !  my  nephew,  and  not 
Mr.  Tagg — what  a  situation  !  where  shall  I  hide  my  blushes  ? 

Old  P.  Play  no  more  such  tricks. 

Lii.  P.  Tricks  !  oh,  sir,  you  recollect  you  have  kindly  pardon- 
ed them  already  ;  and  now  you  must  intercede  for  me,  with  my 
aunt,  that  I  may  have  her  forgiveness  too,  for  preventing  her 
from  eloping,  as  she  designed,  with  her  tender  swain,  Mr.  Tagg. 

Old.  P.  Ay,  she  shall ;  'tis  impossible  to  refuse  you  any  thing. 

Lit.  P.  And  do  j-ou  then  indeed,  forgive  all  my  faults  1 

Old  P.  Forgive  them  !  ah,  had  j'ou  vex'd  me  as  much  again,  I 
should  be  more  than  repaid  by  the  happiness  of  this  moment. 

Lit.  P.  Kind  sir,  my  joy  is  then  complete,  and  I  will  never 
more  offend. 


FINALE. 


Kind  sir,  once  more  receive  me 
Within  a  parent's  arms  ; 
Nor  drive  me  forth  to  wander. 
Exposed  to  harsh  alarms. 
My  duty,  love,  obedience, 
This  penitence  secures  ; 
Then  ne'er  adopt  another  child. 
For  I  am  only  yours. 


My  joy  is  then  completed, 
Would  but  each  generous  guest, 
By  partial  favor  smiling. 
Applaud  each  artless  jest. 
The  object  of  each  childish  prank, 
Was  merelj^  to  amuse  you  ; 
Then  censure  uot  the  school  boy'« 

tricks, 
But  laugh  at,  and  excuse  soe. 


CURTAIN    FALL.S. 
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